


Ohana

by Beta2Omega (BetaZ)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Danny is off-screen, Fluff, Implied/Pre-slash Janny, M/M, Pack Bonding, Pack Feels, Puppy pile, Rated T for swearing, implied sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 00:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetaZ/pseuds/Beta2Omega
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets a new favorite number.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ohana

**Author's Note:**

> First published work, yay! I'm nervous as hell putting this up...
> 
> Rated Teen for the occasional swear word.
> 
> Unfortunately, none of the characters are mine.

Seven is Stiles’ favorite number.

For a multitude of reasons. Harry Potter, for instance, has a huge amount of mythology surrounding the number seven. It can be linked to a fuck-ton of myths or magical theories (of course, Deaton had given him a hopeless look when Stiles had mentioned this, so maybe it wasn’t as magical as some theories implied, but it’s the thought that counts). 

Oh! Seven is the number of chicken nuggets he got in his six-piece Mighty Kids Meal the day he and Scott had forced the Pack to go to McDonalds when they were putting Pokémon cards in the Happy Meals. Stiles was pumped when he got a Houndoom (What? It reminds him of someone he knows. Someone who maybe was emotionally stunted and is overly-fond of his red eyes and knows that Stiles get a little distracted and flustered whenever the teen is around him and his stupid face…), and hooted with glee when Scott indignantly pulled out his very own Magikarp. Derek, Jackson, and Boyd had refused to join the Poké-Love Fest, Derek refusing to eat anything on the menu at all, and Jackson and Boyd just thinking they were too cool for a kids meal. Whatever, Stiles was having a ball watching Scott ineffectively try to trade his card for Isaac’s Vaporeon, and he would have sworn on every item on his League of Legends account that he saw Lydia trading her Ledian for Erica’s Vulpix. 

What was he talking about?

Oh, yeah. Seven.

The number was mostly his favorite, however, for a very simple reason. Seven is the number of members in his pack. No matter how crazy things got, no matter what screwed-up Freak-of-the-Week, pseudo-nightmare, Creature-of-the-Black-Lagoon they had to deal with, his pack was always there to “calm” things down with half a dozen bags of popcorn and a mini World War III over what movie they would watch during their Friday Fright Nights. (At least that’s what Stiles calls them, but that’s because he always nominates old monster movies like The Wolf Man or An American Werewolf in London, much to the rest of the pack’s dismay. Stiles seems to be the only one to think this is hilarious.)

Of course, the moment he mentions this reason to Scott after his lovable best friend asks him to pick his favorite number during a rousing game of Jackson Accidently Broke the TV But We Don’t Feel Like Going Home So Let’s Ask Dumbass Questions in a Sad Attempt at Pack Bonding (Stiles really needs to come up with a shorter name for this game), he immediately receives a semi-hard smack against the back of his head and Lydia’s scrutinizing eyes boring holes into his brain. 

“What the hell was that for?” Stiles complained, rubbing his hand over the now-throbbing spot on his head as he looked over to the violent culprit from his position on the floor. Derek was sitting back in his seat like he had no idea what Stiles was talking about, that bastard.

Lydia cocked her head slightly, still staring at the injured teen. Stiles turned back to look at her as she said slowly, “There are eight of us.”

Stiles looks around the room quickly, counting as his eyes met several different pairs, all staring at him with a slightly hurt look, as if they were thinking he didn’t like them. He scrunched his eyebrows.

“You, Scott, Isaac, Erica, Jackson, Boyd, and the Big Bad Wolf. Seven.”

“Eight,” Erica says, breaking the small silence that had unfolded after his explanation. “You didn’t count you.”

Stiles started at that. He had never really thought about counting himself in with the total; the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. He said as much, which seemed to distress Scott as he quickly pounced on his friend. 

Before he knew it, he was the at the bottom of a puppy pile (again, his term, constantly rejected by the pack), and he was reminded how hard it was to breath with almost a half dozen werewolves piled onto his stomach. Looking up, he could see Lydia kneeling next to his head, smirking and trying to avoid getting dragged into the crazy that was over-emotional teen wolves. Derek was still sitting in the same chair as before, his left foot close to Stiles’ head from how Scott had pushed the teen down from his original sitting position. Scott was holding his shoulders down so he couldn’t push anyone off. 

“You are Pack.”

Scott says it firmly, like it was a known truth, on par with “the sun is large” and “Finstock is insane.” 

“Scott—“

“You are! You’re Pack! You’re probably more Pack-y than the rest of us combined!”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at the word ‘Pack-y,’ but otherwise stays quiet. He knows that, in theory and in technicality, that he was Pack. It just had never really sunk in. You know? So with his all of his friends either piled on top of him or smirking at him from a short distance, maybe that reality became a little more…real. Maybe his family was a bit bigger than he had thought.

He was about to say as much when Scott apparently decided that Stiles was about to go on a long emo-self-hate rant of some sort, turning to Derek and demanding, “Tell‘em, Derek! Tell him he’s Pack.”

The Beta stared down his Alpha, who had yet to react other than to smirk at Stiles’ pain and suffering of wolf-induced asphyxia. The man shrugged. 

“Of course he’s Pack. He’s an idiot sometimes, but he’s the Pack idiot.”

Stiles blinked several times. Was he supposed to feel joyful glee from knowing that Derek hadn’t even questioned his place in the group, or was he supposed to be offended at the underhanded jab? 

Both. Both is good.

“Wow, thanks, Sourwolf. Really feeling the love.” 

With that, Stiles is able to wiggle enough to dislodge Scott’s grip on him and push the overeager puppies off of him. Nonetheless, Stiles was having a hard time hiding the humongous grin that spreads across his face.

Seeming satisfied that his friend is no longer excluding himself from their ragtag group of misfits, Scott moves on to the next person, asking Jackson how long he has had a crush on Danny. As the blonde sets about attacking his packmate, Stiles sneaks a peek at the Alpha sitting slightly behind him. The older man was still looking at Stiles. When he realized the teen was looking back, he let out a tiny glimmer of a smile. Not a smirk, an honest-to-god smile. 

Stiles might die from shock.

He just continued to grin like an idiot as he had been since his release from Puppy-traz. After a moment, Derek broke eye contact to watch two of his Betas roll around on the ground, probably trying to assess if something else was going to need replacing soon. Stiles settled back and watched his Pack laugh and egg on the wrestling match. His smile turns more fond than maniacal. 

Maybe Stiles should change his favorite number.

Eight sounds like a good one.

**Author's Note:**

> Ohana used bearing in mind the Lilo & Stitch quote: "Ohana means Family. Family means nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten."
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcome!
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely august_justice. All mistakes are her fault. ;)


End file.
